Australian War Memorial History Webinar Series 26
July 2022
For
over a decade I’d written about Australian pilots. Biography was my genre of
choice, and in imagination I flew through the Battle of Britain and Darwin’s
skies; over the Western Desert; the Southwest Pacific Area; and the fjords of
Norway. Those airmen were imbued with the sheer joy of flying. Recognising
their deep, visceral connection to flight, I wondered how they would have coped
if they could not fly – if they had been grounded not through war’s end, choice,
or death, but because of captivity.
I thought Stalag Luft III would be a good setting for
a group biography of Australia’s ‘wingless’. After all, approximately a quarter
of all Australian airmen prisoners in Europe had been incarcerated in the camp
made famous – or infamous – by the Great Escape. Who hasn’t read the book, or
seen the 1963 film? Who can forget Steve McQueen and his motorbike, the film’s
iconic theme music, and James Coburn’s appalling Australian accent? Who hasn’t shed tears
as brave men fell to German bullets? But other than Coburn’s fictional
Australian we know little about the Australian Great Escapers let alone any of Stalag
Luft III’s other Australians. And this is despite the fact that Paul Brickhill,
the author of the Great Escape book, was himself Australian.
I was set. A group biography of the Australians of the
Great Escape – not just the airmen killed in the post-escape reprisals, but
encompassing those who supported the grand venture in so many ways. But the
more I researched the more I realised the Great Escape was not representative
of life in Stalag Luft III. The evidence suggested that an analytical account
of the broader Australian experience was warranted. But I didn’t have the
skills for that. I was a biographer. I didn’t know what to do.
In October 2014, I attended a book launch. Chatting after the formalities, historian
Michael McKernan asked me what I was doing with myself. I told him about the
problems I was facing; how desolate I felt that I would have to put the project
aside because I didn’t have the ability to do it properly. Michael then asked
one of those life-changing questions: had I ever considered doing a PhD? I
hadn’t. But by the time I arrived home, I had. I emailed Professor Peter
Stanley, recently installed at UNSW Canberra, and he agreed to sponsor my PhD
application and supervise me. Michael was ‘volunteered’ to be my co-supervisor.
Six months later, I was at UNSW Canberra ready to discover how 351 Australian
airmen – fondly referred to as ‘the cohort’ – coped with captivity. In 2020, I
submitted the thesis which brought me here today – ‘Emotions of Captivity: Australian Airmen Prisoners
of Stalag Luft III and their Families’.
*****
‘Emotions
of Captivity’ presents the cohort as military operatives
and emotional beings. I
explore their emotions, feelings, motivation, sense-making, and memory. I
foreground the affective aspects of agency, community, altruism, duty,
identity, masculinity, prison camp domesticity, faith, grief, and death. Wartime
incarceration greatly affected the cohort’s physical and mental health. For
many, it was traumatic. The memory of it lingered and permeated their post-war
lives. As such, I also highlight the emotions and legacy of captivity trauma.
In ‘Emotions of
Captivity’, I explicate three
central arguments.
The first is that the cohort did not passively accept
captivity. They exerted considerable personal and group agency to manage and
mitigate the residue of battle trauma; the shock of captivity; and the
inevitable strains of wartime imprisonment. By consciously declining to succumb
to the ‘futility of existence’ as one man termed it, they remained potent
military operatives, albeit behind barbed wire.
The dream of home and the prospect of homecoming is
central to military experience. Familial bonds are vital for survival. Accordingly,
‘Emotions of Captivity’ secondly argues that captivity extended beyond the
confines of the prison camp to home, embracing the airmen’s families and
supportive networks. But family members were not simply helpmeets. Their own affective
responses, including anxiety, anguish, and grief, are a significant part of the
captivity experience, as is their agency.
My third argument builds on co-supervisor Michael
McKernan’s contention that ‘this war never ends’, for either POWs or their
loved ones. Recognising, then, that the effects of captivity did not cease at
liberation or homecoming, I examine the emotional, psychological, and moral
consequences of wartime imprisonment which infiltrated and, in many cases,
dominated, the former prisoners’ post-war lives, and those of the hidden
casualties of captivity – the airmen’s families.
Before moving on,
I want to quote the Australian War Memorial’s Bryan Gandevia Prize judging
panel. I’m not just blowing my own trumpet: there is a point to this. ‘Richly
researched and well written, [Emotions of Captivity’s] descriptions of
life in captivity – and its impact – is wide-ranging and comprehensive. As well
as tackling taboo subjects such as sexuality and suicide, the post-war
experience of prisoners is followed to address contemporary understandings of
ongoing trauma.’
That traumatic residue of European captivity, especially among airmen
prisoners, has been little recognised. It’s an important story but who on
earth ever reads a thesis beyond your supervisors, family, examiners and, in my
case, a judging panel? Through the Bryan Gandevia
Prize I hope to highlight the wartime, life-long, and intergenerational
challenges of captivity. I’m grateful to the Australian War Memorial for providing me
the opportunity to do that today. Given my original motivation for embarking on
a PhD, I’ve been busy rewriting for a broader readership! I’ve thrown away the
academic scaffolding, restructured, inserted new chapters on the Great Escape,
and included more illuminating stories. In time, I hope others will read about Australia’s airmen prisoners of Stalag Luft III and their families, and discover
their experience of captivity and its legacy.
*****
‘Emotions
of Captivity’ draws on a considerable distributed archive of autobiographical,
visual, and material evidence. All, including letters; diaries; photographs and
art works; poetry; oral history interviews; and even objects such as brooches, sand,
spoons, and bits of tiles, express and reflect emotional lives.
One of the most important sources of affective
evidence is the wartime log book, a personal narrative unique to the European
captivity experience. Containing photographic and artistic images; poems and
recipes; news clippings; and lists of recordings listened to, books read, and
films watched wartime log books are similar to commonplace books. Some POWs
used them as diaries. As well as being personal records of captivity, many
include contributions by fellow prisoners. Accordingly, they serve as communal
as well as personal records of captive life and affect.
Wives, fiancées, and sweethearts were integral to the
captivity experience. While we can discern their responses through the cohort’s
correspondence and diaries, their own voices are crucial. As such, I also drew extensively
on women’s writings and memory. Of particular note are two collections of
reciprocal correspondences. Those between Beryl Smith and her fiancé Charles
Fry exist because Beryl made carbon copies of all of her letters and kept them
with those she received from Charles. Doug Hutchinson carried the letters he
had received from his wife, Lola, on the forced march. They took up precious
space in his pack which could have been used for food but he couldn’t bear to
part with them. Later, Doug gathered Lola’s letters with those he’d written to
her during their years apart, and lovingly preserved them.
Memories are also important sources. Many family members shared details
of their lives with former POWs, and I thank them for this. I also spoke with
some of those former airmen themselves. One series of interviews in particular
greatly influenced the direction of my thesis.
During the course of nine detailed conversations, Alec Arnel kept
returning to the distress he felt at putting aside his religious convictions to
join the air force; the act of killing; becoming a POW; and losing his faith. I
suspected the source of that distress was deep moral troubling. I discussed
this with Alec who agreed that it was likely. He then bravely agreed to speak
to me in another interview dedicated to his moral dilemmas. That prompted me to
reappraise other written and medical evidence – to speak with family members
about the possibility that their former POW had also experienced some degree of
moral troubling. Chapter eleven, which I will tell you
about soon, owes its existence to Alec.
My most important source of experience
and affect, is testimony contained in medical records compiled by
the Repatriation Department, and, after its name change in 1976, the Department
of Veterans’ Affairs. Although they were not yet in the public domain, DVA graciously
granted me special access to almost a hundred files.
Those records proved game-changing for my thesis. They revealed that
many of the cohort had experienced some degree of temporary; long-term; or
permanent psychological damage – including captivity trauma. They also indicated
that a significant proportion of men suffering decades of trauma were morally
troubled – some had moral injury. In addition, DVA files highlighted that women
and other family members were victims of captivity trauma: they had suffered
domestic abuse and violence at the hands of the psychologically distressed.
That evidence sent me direct to the divorce archive where I found harrowing accounts
of captivity-related violence in the home.
*****
‘Emotions
of Captivity’ is a thematic thesis, divided into four parts. Family archivists
allowed me to copy their photographs and records – and I made full use of them as both sources
of experience and affect. You’ll see many of them as I survey each chapter.
Part one contains the introduction as well as chapter
one in which I overview the cohort’s social and military backgrounds, and
discuss their motivations for enlisting. I outline the German and Italian
captivity infrastructures; Stalag Luft III’s history and organisation; and the
arc of the cohort’s experience. I also establish the framework of resilience
which was central to successful coping behind barbed wire and which later
underpinned the cohort’s ability to live with captivity’s aftermath.
Part two focuses on how the cohort as air men – active
servicemen behind barbed wire – and men of emotions drew on their specific
service culture and affective bonds to implement strategies to mitigate and
ameliorate the strains of their internment.
Starting with capture and interrogation, then moving
onto incarceration in Stalag Luft III, in chapter two I examine the cohort’s personal
and collective agency in the early stages of captivity. I focus on their
morale-raising strategies based on humour – laughing at how they were captured;
their living conditions; their plights as POWs; and their seemingly
interminable confinement. I discuss their inspirational leadership and the
service discipline they entrenched by constructing a de facto RAF station – which
I call ‘RAF Station Sagan’. This chapter also examines the POWs’ new martial
identity. Like most servicemen, they abhorred the shameful connotations
surrounding the word ‘prisoner’ and the constant reminder of it – their POW tag.
The German Kriegsgefangener – war prisoner – emphasised the sense of
emasculation and powerlessness airmen felt when removed from aerial operations.
Instead, they dubbed themselves Kriegies which reflected their continuing
fighting spirit. Linguistically and emotionally, they remained men of war.
In chapter three I analyse the development of
escape-mindedness; the duty to escape; and active disruption. I describe the
‘X’ – or escape – organisation, a viable, endorsed scheme which enabled the
kriegies to both manage their captivity and contribute to RAF Station Sagan’s
communal life. Escape work and other disruptive acts helped relieve boredom;
increased morale and self-esteem; and provided a sense of adventure. They were
also expressions of martial identity – the active air man, on duty, in the
barbed-wire battleground.
The kriegies’ strong service-based
fraternal bonds – their version of the brotherhood of airmen – helped abate the
strains of incarceration. I describe those ties in
chapter four, as well as the threats to them including homosexuality (real or
imagined) and self-interest. I also consider the cohort’s familial ties; their
concept of ‘home’; and how they sought to replicate it – including by embracing
domestic chores. In doing so, they created a supportive foundation for camp
harmony and their all-important escape work, as well as an emotional link to
their pre-service lives and loved ones.
Some kriegies drew on religious beliefs, practices,
and the prevailing Christian ethos to help manage and make sense of their
captivity. As such, I explore the emotional dimensions of faith. As well as
outlining their relationships with God, I consider the importance of Christmas
and Anzac Day. I also describe how the kriegies gained comfort as they mourned
those killed in the post-Great Escape reprisals by composing their deaths as
Christian sacrifices.
The kriegies missed sex and, in
chapter six, I consider
how they managed that physical need. They also missed
the warmth of loving, supportive relationships. As such, I analyse the
strong emotional connections of partnered kriegies to their wives, fiancées,
and sweethearts, paying particular attention to how the airmen actively
maintained their long-distance relationships. They wrote letters; planned their
romantic futures; and imaginatively brought
their loved ones into camp in image, memory, and synchronicity. A vibrant
theatre created the presence of women. Faux females stalked the stage
and mingled with the crowds. In this chapter, I
also describe how the cohort actively constructed what I dub, a ‘fit and well’
composure which reinforced a cheery masculine martial
identity. They declared to loved
ones – and the world through publication of letters and photographs in
newspapers and POW magazines – that they were happy, in good spirits, healthy
and well, fit and active, and above all, virile.
Prisoners
of war were fully aware that captivity affected their states of mind; that it
contributed to what Ronald Baines called, ‘Those Kriegie Blues’
and others termed ‘going round the bend’. Chapter
seven examines the cohort’s mental health,
including kriegie attitudes towards barbed-wire suicide.
The emotional turmoil experienced in the lead-up to the Great Escape and the
impact of the post-escape reprisals all took their toll on individual and collective
psychological states. I show that, as much as possible, the cohort actively
managed threats to their personal and group well-being. They also supported
those in psychological extremis. As a consequence of
their emotional resilience, the majority of the Australian cohort remained ‘mentally strong’ in Stalag Luft III.
Affective responses of family and
fictive kin are a vital part of the captivity experience. In chapter eight
I focus on the emotional and practical support provided by air force;
community groups; and close and extended family – particularly wives, fiancées,
and sweethearts – to ensure kriegies were neither neglected nor forgotten. In
exploring the emotional and sexual strains of separation, I highlight female
agency in relieving both their own suffering and that of their captive loved
ones. Anticipatory and actual grief was also a feature of captivity’s home front
experience and I discuss how six Australian families, including the loved ones
of the Great Escapers, mourned those of the cohort who never returned.
Part three turns to post-war lives and the long legacy
of captivity.
Homecoming was a time of great joy, but also a period
of uncertainty; psychological discomposure; and social awkwardness as the
former kriegies faced the challenges of return and resettlement in a world very
different from the one they had left. In chapter nine I consider the loss of
air force and captivity bonds, as well as their service identity; employment
difficulties; and compromised physical and mental health. I also discuss
domestic unrest, abuse, and violence. Despite myriad social and psychological
challenges, most of the cohort chose to ‘get on with life’. They didn’t talk
about their experiences – they put captivity behind them and actively ‘forgot’
about it. They tamped down any traumatic residue that bubbled to the surface. Their
silence was endorsed; wives, families, and society also wanted to forget the
difficult past.
The
mental resilience which underpinned successful management of captivity broke
down in many cases, leading to psychological vulnerability. In chapter ten I
explore long-term psychological disturbance; post-traumatic symptoms; and
captivity trauma as well as the health consequences of long-term anxiety and
stress, including early death. This chapter also highlights those men whose
psychological distress was so great that they contemplated, attempted, or
committed suicide.
Chapter eleven examines
the moral dimension of war and captivity trauma. I discuss the triggers
of moral troubling: survivor and captain’s guilt; the duty to kill; and
witnessing or suffering inhumane acts. I show that those who allayed their
moral troubles did so largely through their own agency and resilience; the help
of loved ones; or through faith.
It’s a natural human response to seek meaning in
difficult or traumatic experiences – to make sense of what has happened. This
final chapter reveals that constructing meaning is fundamental to resilience
and an ultimate coping with captivity’s residue. In it, I explore the transformative aspects of
captivity and its legacy: the blessings and benefits of wartime imprisonment;
personal growth; and, for the morally troubled, attainment of moral health. I
highlight how some wives gained composure through love and accommodation. I
examine the efforts of intergenerationals – the cohort’s children; nephews and
nieces; great nephews and great nieces; and grandchildren – to create
‘memories’ of captivity. I consider how they forged connections with their
family’s former kriegie through objects, artistic expression, and pilgrimage.
Part four – the conclusion – wraps up ‘Emotions of
Captivity. It also reveals two unexpected findings.
The dominant Australian captivity narrative focuses on the greater
physical and mental trauma of former prisoners of Japan. In contrast, the
received wisdom is that those incarcerated by Germany and Italy enjoyed a
relatively benign captivity with few, if any, hardships. The cohort’s medical
evidence, however, contradicts the perception of an easy captivity with no
psychological residue. Almost two-thirds of my medical sample experienced
post-war mental disturbance. Many suffered PTSD-like symptoms; captivity trauma;
or moral troubling. ‘Emotions of Captivity’ demonstrates that Australia’s
prevailing trope of a benign captivity experienced by prisoners of Europe is a
myth.
Surprisingly, I found that the cohort unwittingly – but actively –
created that myth during the war by constructing and promoting their fit and
well composure. Their post-war
protective silence did nothing to contradict it. Their personal accounts
embedded and perpetuated it. Comparing themselves to former prisoners of Japan,
many believed that they had had a better, less traumatic experience. The
consequence was that there was no place within the Australian captivity narrative
for their own wartime suffering and post-war trauma.
More recently, the trauma of POWs other than those incarcerated by the
Japanese has been recognised by scholars and government. ‘Emotions of
Captivity’, however, foregrounds the cohort’s own testimony, their own medical
evidence, to rebut their own fit and well composure. ‘Emotions of Captivity’
privileges their words to shatter their diligent post-war silence. In doing so,
it demonstrates that they did suffer; that the traumatic legacy
of captivity for many Australian airmen – and their families – lasted a
lifetime and beyond. ‘Emotions of Captivity’ reveals
that the former airmen have an incontrovertible
place in Australia’s narrative of war trauma.
*****
I
have a few final words before I conclude. Evelyn Johnston’s fiancé Eric had
been tortured in Buchenwald concentration camp before he was transferred to
Stalag Luft III. Evelyn waited anxiously after Eric went missing from aerial
operations and was overjoyed when he came home. Like many, Eric did not settle
back into civilian life. He suffered unremitting PTSD and the vivid nightmares
that go with it – but Evelyn supported him unstintingly. Eric wouldn’t talk
about what had happened to him; he refused to describe the nightmares. ‘It was
all part of life that I didn’t particularly want to remember’, he said later.
He told Evelyn that he ‘didn’t want to worry my relatives and you in particular
– about what I’d been through … I didn’t want to tell you about it, didn’t want
you upset’. Despite Eric’s continuing traumatic memories fracturing their
lives, theirs was the happiest of marriages. Their love never faltered. They
sat beside each other in their bedroom and cried together when Eric broke the
news that, after fifty-seven years of marriage, he only had six months to live.
Reflecting over those years, Evelyn unhesitatingly told me that ‘I’ve had a
very good life. A brilliant life’. ‘[W]hen I look back on my whole life I’m
very lucky.’ Eric shared her attitude. His life was happy, fulfilled – though
difficult. It hadn’t been ruined by captivity. Many other former kriegies and
their wives echoed Evelyn’s words. Only a handful considered that captivity had
ruined their lives.
I discovered much about the power of love such as
Evelyn’s and Eric’s; community; agency; and resilience. I also learned many
lessons from the cohort and their womenfolk about how to cope with the
challenges I encountered in my own life over the five years of my PhD
candidacy. ‘Emotions of Captivity’ enriches our understanding of the human
condition. It reveals much about wartime and post-war coping and resilience. That
resilience, along with the pre-eminence of personal, communal, and familial
agency – despite adversity and trauma – is perhaps the defining legacy of
captivity for the Australian airmen of Stalag Luft III and their families. It
is a significant affective lesson that remains relevant today. Thank you.
Dr Kristen Alexander | Adjunct Associate Lecturer
School of Humanities and Social Sciences
UNSW Conflict + Society Research Group
UNSW Canberra
https://www.facebook.com/KristenAlexanderAuthor
Twitter:
Kristen Alexander @kristenauthor
https://unsworks.unsw.edu.au/entities/publication/f9d80f12-2031-4f23-abf6-40e70987ef8a
